In the away dressing room at the Philips Stadion, Utrecht's players sat in a circle while Erik ten Hag spoke from the middle.
Everything that needed to be said had already been covered in training. Before the match, Erik ten Hag mainly reiterated a few key points and boosted the players' morale.
"Everyone, come here. Everyone."
Erik ten Hag gestured, and the players who had already put on their boots stood up and gathered in the middle.
"That's all I have to say. Remember, don't lower your expectations before this match. Our only goal is to win. The opponent is never as strong as we imagine!"
Erik ten Hag put his hand in the middle, and Ramselaar placed his on top.
"3!"
"2!"
"1!"
"Utrecht, forward!"
Clap clap clap! "Woohoo!"
The players clapped. Erik ten Hag truly was an artistic master—after that speech, the players' spirits had risen considerably.
Tang Ye remained where he was. Being observant, he noticed Erik ten Hag's trembling hand hidden behind his back, so he walked over. "Mr. Erik, no need to be nervous."
"Th-thanks—damn it, get lost! Why the hell are you comforting me!?"
Erik ten Hag took a step back and glared at Tang Ye. "You're the player. I should be comforting you, understand?"
He looked Tang Ye up and down.
Mint gum in his mouth, a towel in his left hand, and on his feet... slippers? "Where are your football boots?"
"Over there. My laces are knotted."
Tang Ye pointed at a pair of boots on the floor. "I think I tied them too tightly last time. I can't undo them."
"Fuck! Hurry up and untie them!"
Erik ten Hag ran over, hurriedly picked up Tang Ye's boots, and struggled to find the knot. "There are only six minutes until kickoff! Couldn't